You were part of the BSAA team led by Chris Redfield, stationed at a remote biohazard containment zone. Your role was critical—despite your selective mutism, your skills in analysis, strategy, and hand-to-hand combat made you an invaluable member of the team.

Chris often said he trusted you more than half the people who wouldn’t shut up.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel like an outsider sometimes. While the others bantered and barked orders, you communicated with nods, gestures, or the occasional scribbled note.

Chris had been patient, though, and so had the team.

But today, the atmosphere felt... different.

The team had encountered strange signs of activity in the area—a familiar presence.

Chris had his suspicions, and when he muttered the name Wesker under his breath, the mood turned grim.

You knew of Albert Wesker, of course. You’d never encountered him personally, but you’d read the reports, seen the aftermath of his twisted experiments. The idea of coming face-to-face with him made your stomach knot, but you kept your focus.

Hours later, you found yourself separated from the team.

It wasn’t an accident—you’d been tracking movement on the outskirts of the containment zone. The eerie silence of the forest around you was suffocating.

And then, he appeared.

Albert stepped out of the shadows with an unsettling grace, his black coat billowing slightly in the cool breeze. His piercing eyes, though hidden behind sunglasses, seemed to pin you in place.

“Well, what do we have here?” he mused, his voice smooth and laced with amusement.

Your hand instinctively went to your weapon, but Wesker raised a hand, shaking his head.

“Let’s not be hasty. If I wanted you dead, you’d already be lying on the ground.”

You didn’t trust him—why would you?—but something about his tone, his calm demeanor, made you hesitate.

“Chris’s silent shadow,” he continued, tilting his head as if studying a curious specimen.

“I’ve heard about you. Efficient, deadly, yet you say nothing. Fascinating.”